


The Vigilante Alchemist

by lampalot7



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Like, M/M, Past Character Death, Slow Burn, So much angst, This is going to be long, Vigilante AU, very slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27040042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lampalot7/pseuds/lampalot7
Summary: If the Elric brothers were born six years earlier, if the timeline of their childhoods was pushed back six years, their lives would be very different. The timing of certain events wouldn't align, and Edward's losses would be greater than ever.Unable to save Alphonse, he wanders the world, alone, seeking atonement by helping anyone else he can. But when there is a greater threat on the horizon, he must collaborate with those who are hunting him.
Relationships: Buccaneer & Edward Elric, Edward Elric & Maes Hughes, Edward Elric & Miles, Edward Elric/Roy Mustang, Olivier Mira Armstrong & Buccaneer & Miles, Olivier Mira Armstrong & Edward Elric
Comments: 27
Kudos: 99





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! I've been working on this for a little while and decided to finally post it. This will be a chaptered fic, and a long one at that, but I'm very determined to finish it. I have a few chapters written, and I hope to get updates out once a month.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

Heat and metal limbs didn’t mix well. It sets into every bolt and plate and is conducted up to the flesh in the world’s most excruciating symphony. The skin around the mechanical joint is cooked at an agonizingly slow pace while it blisters and bubbles, and the body overheats at more than three times the normal rate. It is for this reason that those with automail are rarely suicidal enough to brave the harsh sun of the Great Desert, and those who do never make a return trip. Of course, Edward Elric was nothing if not reckless to the point of stupidity, so he had done so twice already. The journey can stretch across weeks and they were some of the longest of his life, but he’d honestly rather do it again then stay in the frozen hell of Drachma another minute.

Edward _hated_ the cold. It set in just as easily, but it ached and spread, sinking into every bone or fiber and staying there for hours even when you got out of the snow. The skin by the joints grew taut until it cracked and darkened with the slight purpling of narrowly avoided frostbite. So yeah, the heat was shit, but he’d take scarring burns over the bone-deep chill and cracking skin any day.

He was making the trek back to the border to reconvene with Major General Armstrong and update her on the recent insurgency he shut down, this time by a much larger and more organized force. Edward was pretty confident he’d stopped it in its early stages, but had decided to stick around the palace for another month to make absolutely certain. The Drachman king wasn’t the best ruler he’d met, but he sure as fuck wasn’t the worst. He also talked to the guy they wanted to put in charge, and he was a total dick. Besides, the heir to the throne was this chick named Anika he’d saved from an assassination attempt a few years back, and she seemed to genuinely care for her people. It was more than could be said for quite a few of the prospective rulers he’d come across in his travels.

Edward made it back before nightfall and knocked against the gate three times, five times, and then four. He had sent word ahead that he’d be back sometime this evening a few days back, so he knew someone trusted would be on post. Sure enough, the distinctive creak of the border gate sounded before opening to reveal a stoic-faced and uniformed Major Miles. 

Edward nodded at him and said, “ **Major**.” The man’s mouth gave the slightest quirk. It always did when he heard the Ishvalan tongue.

“ **Vigilante Alchemist** ,” Miles answered, and Ed’s own mouth formed a grin.

Miles guided him through the fortress, even though they were both well aware he knew where he was going by now. Best not to attract unnecessary attention by letting an outsider march unescorted through the halls. They stopped outside the same meeting room as usual, exchanged a nod of farewell, and then Miles made his way back to the gate while Ed stepped into the room.

Major General Olivier Armstrong responded to his entrance by throwing a knife at his throat, but Edward simply caught it and arched an eyebrow at her. She shrugged and said, “Just making sure you didn’t go soft on us, Elric.” He glared back at her, which earned a rolling of the eyes, before tossing the knife into the wall a half-inch to the left of her head. “Apologies, _Vigilante_ ,” she corrected, in an unfairly patronizing tone, as she pulled the knife from the wall and slid it back into the sheath at her wrist.

Edward elected to ignore the slight and instead nodded at the now sheathed knife, “You’re getting better at that.”

She shrugged again before settling into one of the chairs around the conference table. “It’s a useful skill. Knives are far easier to hide than swords or guns, and since I got all my pointers from you, it’s a skill few know I possess.”

It had taken them a long time to reach a point of trust that allowed for their current camaraderie and an exchange of practices as well as information, but Ed figured it was worth it.

“ **I’ve been keeping up with my swordplay, by the way, but I haven’t had much time for firearms** ,” he said, switching to Drachman to see if she’d practiced with that as much as the knives.

There’s a moment’s thought before she says, “ **You’ll have to visit the range while you’re here, then. I can’t have you tarnishing my reputation as a marksman with your lackluster shooting**.” Ed nodded at her elocution, honestly pretty impressed she’d kept it up so well without a fluent speaker at the fort, and her face looked slightly less blank in response.

“There was another rebel force. Most organized I’d seen as yet, and they were still amassing forces when I showed up,” Edward said, switching to more serious concerns.

“They were swiftly quashed, I presume?”

He smiled. “Of course. Wouldn’t have come back if they weren’t.”

“I should hope not,” she said. “The current regime’s attachment to you is the only reason things have been so calm here of late. I’d hate to return my focus outward when I can continue to root out corruption in Amestrian forces.”

Edward grimaced. “Yeah, I’d prefer your focus stay inward, too. Even if your reach is mostly limited to the north, you can pass on any other information for me to handle. Now, this group had taken to calling themselves the Liberation of Drachma. Ever heard of ‘em?”

* * *

The entire debrief took around four hours because Armstrong insisted he tell her everything he could remember about his time amongst the royal family, like she always did, and they kept switching to Drachman to retain fluency. Armstrong asked him how long he was planning to stick around this time, and he had to think about it for a moment. In the end, he decided, he’d stay a week at most. Once he was rested from the journey back south and had spent some time in the shooting range, he would make a pitstop in central and then head to East City. There’d been rumors of a new serial killer targeting State Alchemists and, yeah, maybe he wasn’t too big a fan of the military’s dogs, but some of ‘em were decent and Ed tried to save lives where he could.

By the end of it, Edward felt exhausted in a way only discussions of politics could make him, so he gave a lazy salute and tossed a goodnight over his shoulder before making his way to the room they always kept empty for him. He had hideouts and make-shift safe houses scattered all over the continent, but this room was probably the closest thing he had to a home to come back to. Edward snorted to himself. That probably spoke volumes about his life over the past few years.

Since he first stayed here, there had been an unspoken understanding that this was Edward’s space and no one else would be there without his say-so. When he came back the next time and the room was exactly how he’d left it, that understanding expanded to all the time, even if he wasn’t anywhere _near_ Briggs. Thus, his facsimile of home. It was the only place he felt was secure enough to actually leave stuff in because not only was it the only place he knew he could come back to, but he trusted Armstrong and where he didn’t, he trusted the fear she instilled in others.

Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t memorizing every square inch of the place every time he entered or exited to look for inconsistencies. He was still a paranoid bastard after all. Being on your own for six years will do that to you.

The room was just how he left it, it always was, with the addition of three months of accumulated dust. Edward took a deep breath of the familiar smell, coughed when he inhaled said dust, and then moved the bed a couple feet away from the wall so he could transmute the floorboards. He pulled out the stash of papers and books before replacing the floor and sliding the bed back over.

Maybe he left a few nonessentials here on occasion, but that sure as shit didn’t mean he left them out in the open. They weren’t even anything you couldn’t find just as easily in a local library, but they were his, dammit, and he didn’t have much left these days. The books did have a few scribbled notes and corrections in the margins, but so did everything else he’d ever touched. Besides, there was no way in hell anyone would be able to break the code he used within the next century.

He deconstructed and reconstructed every feasible surface to get rid of the dust, then settled in with a book, one they’d taken from their piece-of-shit father’s library before burning the house down. This particular book was about alchimathematical theory as it pertains to elemental transmutation, and had been one of his favorites as a kid. It also had one or two notes that Al had written when he was still alive, and Ed was nothing if not a glutton for punishment.

* * *

He woke to the skull-rattling pounding of metal-on-metal at his door, and he knew exactly who Armstrong sent as his wake-up call. He sighed, resigned to his fate, slid out from under the warmth of the blankets, pulled on a discarded pair of pants, and opened the door. He was, predictably, assaulted by a smack of automail against his back and a booming laugh before Captain Buccaneer said, “Thought you’d abandoned us, Vigilante!”

Edward shot him an annoyed glare, but he knew it was tinged with amusement. “I was barely gone a couple months, Buccaneer. Pretty sure my record is over a year. I can try and stop by more, though, if you missed me that much.”

Buccaneer smiled in a way that would probably be menacing to anyone who didn’t know him, and said, “Miss you? We were planning a party, Miles made a banner and everything. It said, ‘Vigilante Alchemist: Gone At Last.’” They both laughed at that one.

“It’s good to see you too, Captain. You here to escort me to the dining hall, or am I expected to get in some practice at the range first?”

Buccaneer laughed again and said, “You know our Major General well, Vigilante. Range first, but I’m to have food sent down in about an hour.”

“Yeah, that sounds like her, alright,” Edward said, feeling his grin widen.

They traded anecdotes on the walk down, and Armstrong was waiting for them by the time they got there. The second she saw him, he knew what was coming. Of course he did, otherwise what was the fucking point of studying Xingan martial arts and alkahestry? Nonetheless, when Armstrong marched over and hit him over the back of the head, he didn't dodge even though everyone there was well aware he could. She must have appreciated it because her face softened almost imperceptibly as she said, "What did I say about killing yourself in my compound?"

He rolled his eyes because _honestly_ , she was as bad as Winry. He knew it was because she actually cared, but damn if that didn't fucking hurt. "I was just reading, Armstrong, cut me some slack, will 'ya? I always read my first night back."

She glared, but made no move to hit him again. "No skipping meals, no training to the point of immobility, and no _staying up all night_ , Elric. Those are the requirements if you want to be allowed back."

Edward winced at her use of his name, and nodded. "Won't happen again, Major General." She knew perfectly well that he only told her that so they could establish some semblance of trust in the beginning, and he knew she was using it to remind him of their rapport. The name itched at him, though, and it ached like a tightness beneath his skin. He was the last Elric, and he couldn't stand the reminder.

Any remaining tension quickly dissipated once they started shooting, and Edward relaxed into the monotony of rehoning an atrophied skill. Like Buccaneer said, food arrived about an hour in, but they both continued shooting for about thirty minutes before Miles stepped in and fixed them with a flat but unsurprised look. 

It was times like those, with them both inhaling food in order to get back to work faster, that Edward was reminded of how similar he and Armstrong could be.

After another couple hours or so, when he was back to pinpoint accuracy at medium range, Armstrong deemed their practice sufficient for the day and returned to her duties. Ed stayed another while, increasing the target distance at regular intervals until he decided to venture out in search of food.

He stepped out of the sectioned off area Armstrong had set aside for them to find Buccaneer waiting to escort him. "You been waiting for me, Captain?" 

Buccaneer grinned almost mischievously. “Been here just over five minutes, actually. You’re getting predictable, Vigilante,” he said, followed up by a mocking laugh.

Edward’s blood ran a little colder at his words, but he forced his features into a scowl. Buccaneer didn’t know that predictability was death when there was a target on your back in the eyes of almost everyone on the continent. The criminals wanted him dead because he was a seemingly all-knowing vigilante who had unmatched skill in alchemy as well as hand-to-hand combat, and a penchant for taking down anyone he deemed immoral. Usually, the only criminals he was lenient with were thieves who stuck to an acceptable code. The military, on the other hand, wanted him dead because the average citizen trusted him over their dogs; it also, apparently, looked bad when an unknown alchemist took down heinous killers with corroborating evidence before the MPs even had a lead. It was Edward against the world, so he had to keep the world on its toes.

He supposed Buccaneer only has a decent grasp on his habits because he served as his designated escort whenever Ed was at the fort, but it left him uneasy in a way he knew would last a few subsequently sporadic months. Armstrong, Miles, Buccaneer, and Dr. Patricia were the only people he interacted with regularly at Briggs out of an effort to protect Armstrong’s standing in the military and paranoia for his own sake, so a certain understanding of one another was pretty inevitable. He also knew it would be a while before he returned to Briggs, barring some sort of emergency.

They walked in companionable silence for a bit, only a slight strain dancing around the edges. Then the exhaustion of travel caught up with him, and Edward ended up ordering enough for three people, which of course instigated a competition. 

They decided to call it a tie for the time being when the chef grew exasperated enough to kick them out despite Buccaneer's status as a member of Armstrong's inner circle. Instead, they headed to the gym to spar.

After a few rounds of Ed warming up by kicking Buccaneer's ass, the surrounding officers’ comments were split into two distinct groups: making fun of Buccaneer for having his ass handed to him by a twenty-one-year-old, and accusing him of going easy on Edward. The Captain laughed in their faces and stepped back from the mat, gesturing for them to give it a go. Ed appreciated it.

“You’re welcome to all come at me at once,” he says, even though he knew they wouldn't take the offer. Not at first, at least. Then again, a few of the officers had a suspicious glint in their eye, probably those who had heard of him showing up at random and beating everyone to a pulp. 

Nonetheless, his gracious offer was met with mocking laughter. Edward saw Buccaneer’s predictive wince from the periphery of his vision. Then, to add insult to injury, they shoved forward some wimpy looking Private. He appraised the guy’s stance and gave the crowd a disappointed look, before he turned back and said, “Sorry in advance.” 

The Private bristled, and charged at him with all the skill of a newborn foal. Edward took pity and went easy on the guy. He didn’t really know how to pull his punches though, so that mainly translated to moving slowly and dodging every harried attack with the relaxed posture he deemed worthy of the sorry excuse for a fight. He lost patience about forty seconds in and moved a foot between the guy’s unstable stance and pushed him over with a hand at his back. It was a move he had used before Teacher trained them properly.

Edward offered the red-faced Private a hand up, and glared the laughing crowd into silence. “Next,” he said and was then faced with an equally lackluster Sergeant. Not that any of the crowd seemed particularly capable, but this was insulting. Edward still had a feeling this whole thing would end with him giving pointers.

He didn’t bother with waiting this time. The second the Sergeant made his move, he ducked the right jab and delivered two swift blows to Guy Two’s ribs. While he stood there wheezing like an idiot, Ed kicked him in the back of the knee to knock him down.

Each spar progressed similarly as he worked his way through the growing throngs of officers. He dragged some fights out longer than others, and shouted random pointers whenever a particularly egregious mistake was made. Ed stopped one fight halfway through to correct an incompetent Lance Corporal’s guard.

They tried group attacks for a short period, but quickly discovered he was less likely to hold back when outnumbered. Whispered questions about who the fuck he could be were making their way around the room, but Edward left addressing them to Captain Buccaneer. He was not entirely certain whether the official story was that he’s an informant, a spy, or some kind of consultant, so he figured it was best to keep his mouth shut.

Armstrong showed up to berate him for distracting her officers about an hour in, and Edward felt a little thankful because he was starting to get bored. He almost asked to go a round with her, but he knew he had already incited too much curiosity and holding his own against the Ice Queen wouldn’t exactly be keeping a low profile. While the crowd rushed to obey, Armstrong and Ed joined Buccaneer in the corner he’d elected to watch from.

Armstrong looked him over, noticed he hadn't even broken a sweat, and almost-grimaced. “How bad?” she asked.

“Some of them were pretty decent, but the vast majority would be fodder in a siege.” 

“They’ll have you to thank for the impending increase in hand-to-hand regimens, then,” she said, with a distinctly sadistic smile.

Edward winced in sympathy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's chapter one! I really hope you guys liked it, vigilante AUs are my favorite and I couldn't help wanting to write one myself. The next chapter will be more eventful and up in a month, so, see you then I suppose.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Edward visited Dr. Patricia. She had refused to tell him her surname when Armstrong first mentioned he used them almost exclusively. Seeing it for the distancing tactic it was, she’d insisted on him calling her Patricia or she wouldn’t handle his automail maintenance. The ‘Dr.’ was the only rebellion he had managed to get away with.

He was perfectly content to continue avoiding her like he had yesterday, but putting the check-in off any longer was asking for trouble. As it was, he ducked the scrap metal she chucked at his head the second she noticed him. Why did every woman he knew always try to hit him? 

She glared and said, “I thought I told you to take better care of yourself.”

Edward bristled. “What makes you so sure I didn’t, Doc’? A little faith would be nice once in a while.”

Dr. Patricia continued to glare at him. “If you were in good shape, which you never are, you would have gotten this over with the second you got back. Since you put it off for two whole days, it’s gotta be pretty bad. Come on, let’s see it then,” she said, gesturing at his heavy layers. “The sooner I assess the damage, the sooner we can work past the lecture and fix you up.”

Edward gritted his teeth because he _knew_ what she was gonna say, but he shrugged out of his clothes because she was also right: it was better to get it over with. He paused once he was shirtless because it was enough for her to see why he was hiding, and the shoulder was worse anyway. 

The doc took a sharp intake of breath, looked at him like she wanted to beat some sense into him with a stick, and then seemed to decide against violence. Ed winced again because that meant it was worse than he thought. She whispered a single, pained, “Oh, Ed,” before moving to collect some supplies. That was another thing: she called him Ed. No one else had called him that in seven years. She didn’t always do it, but when she did it it was to make sure he was listening. Or, it usually was. It just seemed sad this time, and that hurt even more.

He knew his shoulder looked gnarly. The metal joint of his automail port had seared into his skin and what wasn’t purple was an angry red. The flesh was split in ragged faults as long as his fingers. Edward hated ice burn.

Doc encased the whole arm and shoulder in heated towels and Ed couldn't remember the last time anything felt that nice. "Dr. Patricia, that feels fucking _amazing_. I sincerely apologize for avoiding you, it was clearly a mistake, and you're the best," he said, and meant it.

She slumped a little at that, but said, “I have to see your leg too, Ed.”

He hoped the whole calling-him-Ed thing wasn’t becoming more common. He knew he was already too attached to his Briggs connections, but the reminder made him feel flighty. Insisting on being called by his ‘criminal’ title and referring to everyone by surname or rank could only go so far towards maintaining a distance when every word was laced with camaraderie. 

Nonetheless, he stood and tried to shuck off his pants, without dislodging the towels too much, but the tightness of the leather made it difficult. Dr. Patricia almost smiled at his clumsy efforts and said, “I don’t know why you insist on those awful pants, kid. They’re hardly practical.”

Edward almost fell into one of their common arguments, almost insisted that he wasn't a kid even though he knew she’d just say that anyone she’s known since they were seventeen will always be a kid to her; that one always made him wish he’d taken another year to adjust to vigilante life in familiar territory before heading to Briggs for information and allies. He squashed down the familiar retort, though. He’d take ‘kid’ over ‘Ed’ right now. 

For now, he’d focus on the rest of that sentence which is ludicrous. “They’re plenty practical!” he defended. She suppressed a smile at that, and Edward didn’t know if it was because he ignored the ‘kid’ comment or because of his undeniably petulant tone. “They’re warm as shit and don’t soak through like most materials.”

Dr. Patricia looked uninterested with his reasoning—which, rude, she was the one who brought it up—so he tacked on, “Plus, they make my ass look fantastic,” just to see her hilariously disapproving scowl.

“That do you many favors, up in Drachma?” she asked.

He shrugged his good shoulder, “A few. I was there for a couple months, y’know.”

She returned to his leg with a grimace. “Yeah, Edward,” she said, and he’s flooded with relief at the name. She refuses to call him ‘Vigilante Alchemist’ or even ‘Elric,’ but Edward he can handle. She was still looking at his leg when she said, “I know,” in this forlorn as shit voice. 

Great. Now he felt guilty, which was stupid because he shouldn’t have to feel guilty for being self-destructive. It was her own damn fault she was sad anyway. Ed tried his damndest to keep his distance from everyone at Briggs, but Dr. Pat was stubborn as hell and kept scraping away at that distance, and now she was upset. He should tell her to fuck off, honestly. He should tell her it was her fault, not his.

“I’m sorry, Doc,” he said instead.

She quirked a wry smile at him, probably all-too-aware exactly what he was thinking. “You know how you could make it up to me, Edward.” He opened his mouth to snark back with a euphemism, but she glared him into silence.

He looked away. “You know why I can’t. I don’t have the money or the time to spend on luxuries.”

She wacked him again, and he looked back at her to meet her glare with his own. “Northern Automail isn’t a luxury, Edward. For how often you’re up here, it’s a necessity. Every time I see you, it’s with new burns or scars."

He wanted to roll his eyes, but they weren’t facing each other and he knew from experience that it wasn't worth it. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"Barely! Even when you aren't taking your metal limbs through Drachma or the Great Desert, you're always off gallivanting and getting yourself hurt."

He gritted his teeth. He knew she was right. Didn't mean he had to admit it though. "I haven't changed my mind."

He could hear her take a breath, trying to rein in the anger. They had done this song and dance a thousand times over, so she knew the steps by now. If she pushed too hard, he would shut down. "Fine," she said, only the slightest trace of that anger left. "For now, we don't change it."

Some of the building tension drained from his shoulders, and they spent the rest of the maintenance in companionable silence, broken only by the occasional request to shift.

He knew, logically, that his life would be many times easier with northern automail. He knew he should bite the bullet and switch his out. He knew that, even though it wouldn't help much against heat, the time it'd take for construction and attachment would be well worth it. He also knew that his current automail was all he had of Winry and Granny. Even if other mechanics had adjusted it over the years or replaced parts, the base was still there. He couldn't go back, not after he ruined everything, not when he burdened them with even greater sorrows than they had already suffered. He knew it was all he'd ever have left. 

He also knew that, after he got Al killed—doomed him, even, to spend his last years as a hollow shell—he more than deserved the miseries it brought him.

* * *

He spent the next three days splitting his time between the range, the gym, and having Armstrong catch him up on the goings-on of Amestris in his absence. When he wasn’t doing that, he was making his twice-daily visits to Dr. Pat so she could check on the healing and either wrap the limbs in heated towels or force him to alchemically heat a tub of water to soak them in. She always started off complaining about how the treatments should be more regular and could he just stay still for once in his life? But around halfway into her examination, she’d inevitably loosen up and ask after his day.

Armstrong only had time for two sword fights and both were spent discussing the state of different countries or matters he should look into. She also spent a majority of their joint range-time working with her knives and exchanging pointers whenever either of them saw fit. Almost all of their conversations were in Drachman. 

Buccaneer got in as much sparring time as he could manage whenever he was chaperoning. Miles tended more toward companionable silence in company, and conversations in Ishvalan whenever they were on their own during his shifts. Buccaneer kept him on his toes and Miles was one of the few people he knew outside the slums and Ishvala itself who could hold a conversation in the language; one chaperone trained his mind, and the other his body. He knew they were Armstrong’s most trusted, that only the inner circle knew about him so only they could be his escorts, but he figured he could have had worse than those two.

The night before he ventured off again was always a restless one, but it was somehow worse at Briggs. He’d always hated goodbyes.

He woke with the dawn and began to pack away anything he kept in the room. He’d barely slept, but he’d at least tried, so Armstrong couldn’t be too mad at him. He hoped. He hadn’t always been a morning person: he used to sleep in till all hours and grab a nap whenever possible. Then Al had died, the soul bond weakened by time and the armor eventually rejecting his soul, and he hadn’t slept for months. Edward eventually figured out that he had been sleeping and eating for both of their bodies, while Al’s had been trapped. He still knew that wasn’t why he couldn’t sleep.

He spent the first month wallowing in grief and self-hatred before dragging himself off the floor of the Rockbell’s house and out the door to put himself to use. Edward had failed to protect his brother, but he’d spend the rest of his goddamn life trying to save as many others as he could.

No matter how early he left Briggs, the others always managed to be there to see him off. This time was no different. He grabbed his bag, which held all he dared carry with him (rule one of life on the run: travel light,) and opened the door to Buccaneer’s smug face. Edward glowered back before heading toward the gates. Predictably, Armstrong stood by the exit with Miles and Dr. Pat. 

“Alright, I get it by now, guys, seriously. No getting out of goodbyes. You don’t have to wait for me every time. Can’t we all just agree on a departure time?” He said.

“Of course,” Dr. Pat said, “as soon as we trust that you’ll keep to it, we can start scheduling.”

He rolled his eyes, but offered them a facsimile of a smile. Buccaneer pulled him into a brief hug, as always, and he gave the others each a firm handshake. With a final wave over his shoulder, Edward began to make his way to the North City train station. He would have to stow away, of course, but North City’s security was beyond lackluster and he’d never had any problem doing so before.

He sighed and gritted his teeth against the biting cold. A vehicle escort hardly provided the necessary subtlety, so he had a long trek ahead of him.

* * *

Edward arrived at the station just before the late-morning supply train finished departure preparations. He’d decided to take the train to Central and forage for any information there before heading to East City, where the action was. Any and all gossip always made its way to Central, sooner or later, and it was a hell of a lot closer to him than the East.

He only had to dodge two guards before climbing into the luggage cart, and from there it was just a matter of slipping into the masses, who hadn’t settled in quite yet. He moved into the second-to-last carriage and sat in the back corner. Over the years he'd mastered an expression that simultaneously made him look like he belonged and dissuaded approach.

He pulled his notebook from the inner pocket of his jacket, and continued his work on an expansion of pre-existing water alchemy. He'd gotten the idea from the guy in charge of his case in East City, Colonel Roy Mustang. His flame alchemy quickly gained a reputation and Ed was admittedly fascinated by it. He'd seen it, once, when he was in the city; it was an impressive display and it was elemental alchemy used to its fullest extent.

Most alchemists, including Edward himself, tended to focus on earth as an element because it was so readily available, but once he started thinking about alternatives, Ed couldn't help but be intrigued. He had started by figuring out flame alchemy. At first, Edward had laughed at the Colonel's idiocy for displaying his transmutation circle so brazenly. He quickly understood that few, if any, could replicate the result from the array alone.

He usually devoted any free time not spent training to alchemical research, but the next few months after that revelation were almost exclusively spent cracking flame alchemy. Ed was confident he understood enough to use it if he wanted. He'd never tried it out with actual ignition cloth, all his work was theoretical, but if the guy ever cornered him, Ed had one hell of a distraction up his sleeve. No way in hell would the guy be able to chase him down properly if his own alchemy was turned against him.

But water was uncharted territory. Any mediocre alchemist could weaponize it as ice or steam, but what about controlling water itself in its liquid state? He’d barely had any time to work on it in the six months since he had the idea, so, for the time being, it was little more than a parlor trick. He could form and maintain small shapes, reminiscent of the wooden figures he and Al would make for their mother as children. As it was, none of the circles he designed could support such a complex transmutation. The designs were already more excessive than almost any other alchemist could feasibly use, and for practicality, he’d have to simplify it while simultaneously allowing it to support a more intricate reaction.

Needless to say, progress had been slow.

All he managed on the train ride was the elimination of a single rune, but he’d take what he could get at this point. No one bothered him on the entire train ride to Central, and he made his way to one of his safe houses on the outskirts of the city.

It was a dilapidated building with a leaky roof and holes in the walls, but that was why it was safe. No one would come looking for him there and no one would go there willingly. Most of the places he stayed these past few years were in similar states of disrepair or worse. He scoped it out from a distance before investigating, going through his checklist to see if anybody had visited since he was last in town. Anytime a hideout failed the check, it was permanently retired.

There was no disturbance of dust, none of the debris had been shifted, and the doors were left at the same thirty degree angle he always left safehouse doors at. Satisfied with the place’s security, he carried his single bag into the back room, where there were the fewest compromises to the structural integrity and he could hear anyone approaching, and stuffed it behind the remnants of what might have once been a bed before heading back out. 

It was nearly dusk by the time he had arrived, but the moon had risen well into the sky when he made his way into the depths of the city. He kept an eye out for any minor crimes as he wandered through the alleyways of Central and probed the three muggers he apprehended for information before leaving them for the police. Neither they nor the thief he stopped from breaking into what appeared to be a jewelry store knew anything more than what had been in the papers.

Ed heaved a great sigh because, even if it was inevitable and the only reliable source of information in Central, he hated going to Madame Christmas’s. He managed to put it off for a few more nights of stopping petty crime and fruitlessly interrogating any perpetrators or seemingly knowledgeable civilians before giving in.

The plan was to go in, find the Madame, get his information, and leave. Vanessa spotted him first. “Didn’t know you were back in town,” she said, leaning back against the bar.

“Just got in,” he said, but his focus was elsewhere. Dammit, where the hell is she? he thought. 

“Oh, is that you, Vigilante?” he heard Madeline call. Edward did his best to suppress a grimace. Why did things never go to plan? 

He turned slightly and nodded at her. “Madeline.”

She smiled back at him and said, “We were getting worried you know. It’s been months since we’ve seen you.”

Edward opened his mouth to tell her that he’d been in Drachma for over a month and had business in the West before that, and that, really, he had to keep watch over the whole goddamn continent, he couldn’t be making social visits to people he didn’t even _like_ -

“Speak for yourself, dear,” he heard. Edward spun to see Madame Christmas standing behind him. He scowled at her. She was one of the few people who could still sneak up on him. “I was quite relieved to be rid of him, myself.” Edward’s scowl deepened.

“Great to see you too, Madame.” 

“I assume you have a question for me? I doubt you’d be here if that wasn’t the case,” she said. Vanessa and Madeline slipped silently away.

“That serial killer in the East,” he said, “know anything about it?”

She smirked in that particularly irksome way of hers and said, “But of course, dear. I know everything.”

Edward felt a headache coming on. He took a deep breath. “What can you tell me about it?” he said through gritted teeth.

“I can tell you what I know,” she said. Edward knew better than to think that would be the end of it and quirked an eyebrow. The Madame’s smirk seemed to widen almost imperceptibly. “In exchange for a favor, of course.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Ed said, “And what favor would that be?”

The Madame laughed at him. “Nothing that warrants such a petulant tone, dear. I just want you to collaborate with a contact of mine,” she said. The foreboding Edward felt at that was something he was well used to around the Madame, but was nonetheless chilling. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him. The Flame Alchemist, Colonel Roy Mustang?”

Edward’s face fell into a sour expression. “That bastard? Why should I?” he asked, sliding his eyes to the adjacent wall. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that he’s in charge of finding and apprehending the Vigilante Alchemist, who is me, whenever I find myself in the East?”

Madame Christmas looked almost chastising at that. “Do you really think I’d suggest someone inept?” she asked. Edward was quick to shake his head ‘no’. “Then why has he never caught you, dear?”

Ed frowned at that. He wanted to tell her it was because he was a badass, but she’d gotten the point across. So Colonel Mustang didn’t want him captured, hm? The question of the veracity of that was a fleeting one; if he didn’t trust in the Madame’s information, he would never get anywhere. He nodded. “Alright, Madame. You’ve got yourself a deal. You tell me about this so-called ‘Scar’, and I work with Mustang to bring him down.”

She smirked again before leading him to one of the booths and gesturing for him to take a seat. He did so, albeit with a grimace. At least it meant she had plenty to say. 

“First off, he’s targeting State Alchemists,” she said, “but you likely knew that already.” Ed nodded his confirmation, unwilling to interrupt now that he’d finally be getting a lead. “Something that hasn’t been noticed, even by the military, however, is that he’s an Ishvalan.”

Edward felt his stomach drop, at that. No fuckin’ wonder he’s targeting State Alchemists, then, he thought. But as a thought struck him, his lips quirked down. “Is that why you want me working with the Colonel?” he asked. “For bait?” 

She smiled in a way that told him absolutely nothing. He scowled back at her. It wasn’t quite the Madame’s style, so either he was wrong or there was something personal there. That, or he was wrong and there was something personal there. Something that made her want the guy protected. Ed knew better than to ask, though. If he asked personal questions, there was nothing stopping her from doing the same. Ed had no doubt that he’d been looked into to the best of her ability when they first started working together, but there was a difference between her knowing whatever information she’d scrounged up and her talking to him about it.

He holds his hands up in acquiescence. “Alright, I won’t ask again. Just tell me what you can.”

She nods, and does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited for Roy to join, but there's still a few chapters until we get to him. I hope you guys liked it!


	3. Chapter 3

Edward decided to stay in Central for another three days and see if he could pick up any other information. He didn’t expect much on that front, but he knew better than to move on too quickly and tip off the military. If he was in Central for too long or too short a time without a case, the military got antsy. If he wasn’t in town long enough, they saw it as skipping town before he could be found out for some nefarious plot against them. If he stayed too long, they thought he was planning out a complex, but no less nefarious, plot against them. Last time he’d made the military antsy, Ed had earned a few new scars, so it was probably best avoided.

He spent at least a few hours a night eavesdropping on the guests of the Madame’s bar, but too much time there gave him a headache. The cloying scents of perfume and the sweat of too-drunk patrons would be enough on its own, but whenever he was in, the girls wouldn’t leave him alone. They knew better than to call him Vigilante in public, but Edward was pretty sure it’d be better than the “Mr. Alchemist” they went with instead. Whenever he complained, they argued that it was as close to a last name as they had.

They knew damn well he only put up with their theatrics and teasing because they fed him subtle leads buried amongst all the bullshit. Unfortunately, that also meant that they knew he put up with their theatrics and teasing. 

“Fuck off,” he said when Vanessa started playing with his ponytail. His teeth were clenched so tightly he could almost hear them creaking, and every one of the bar’s customers were averting their gaze out of fear, but Vanessa only laughed at him. His eye twitched. 

She leaned into his shoulder and looked up at him, batting her eyes. “You’re so funny, Mr. Alchemist. Tell me that story again, about when you were back East.”

He refocused on her immediately. “You know, Vanessa, I’ve spent a lot of time in the eastern sector. You’ll have to be more specific.”

She smiled coyly and said, “You know the one, where you met that weird priest guy? What was that town called again… Liore, maybe?”

Ed frowned. “Hm, not ringing any bells,” he said. “Is that the one with that crazy guy your boss knows? The one I haven’t seen in forever?”

“No, silly, a different one!” she giggled. Not about the serial killer then. “The priest guy who had all those followers because he could perform miracles? I swear, that story gets creepier every time I think about it.” 

“It’s the weirdest fucking thing,” he said, “ I can’t remember that story at all. Sorry, Nessa. I'll come back and tell it, if it comes to me."

"Promise?" she said, practically pouting.

Edward was tempted to say no. Honestly, she knew what case he was working—that it was in East City and not on the fucking edge of the Great Desert. Edward heaved a deeper sigh than was strictly necessary. He looked at the wall beside him, but nodded obligingly. She beamed back. Maybe he could stop by if there was a lull in the Scar case. Liore was still in the Eastern sector, after all. 

It was on that last day when he was walking back from the bar that it happened. He rarely got back to his temporary housing without running into trouble of some sort, especially in Central, but the unmistakable flashes of alchemic light combined with the rumbling of combat were a bit of a surprise. Edward slid into an alley and turned his clothes back into a facsimile of his black Vigilante Alchemist uniform, complete with the black mask over his nose and mouth. He quickly alchemized his hair black with the ink he always kept in his pocket as temporary dye, for emergencies like this, and pulled out his braid, putting his hair back into the ponytail he wore as Vigilante as he ran. 

He slowed his pace when he was close enough for the combatants to hear his approach, preserving the element of surprise until he’d properly assessed the situation. He peered over the roof of the building he’d situated himself on to see the fight below. 

It looked like Brigadier General Basque Grand was in the midst of attacking an unarmed civilian. Edward knew better than to accept the situation at face value, but he couldn’t help a fleeting thought of disdain for the military. Then, of course, the supposed civilian fought _back_ and Edward knew exactly what was happening. 

The Iron Blood Alchemist wasn’t attacking a civilian, he was fending off the very serial killer Edward had been planning to stop. 

_He was supposed to be heading east_ , Edward thought as he planned silently from the rooftops. Every rumor he’d heard said Scar would be heading to East City, that he wouldn’t stay in Central long enough for Ed to stop him. Even the Madame had thought the guy would be long gone by now, but here he was. The thought of the Madame, of course, reminded Ed of everything else she’d told him: namely that Scar was Ishvalan.

If memory served, Brigadier General Grand had served in the Ishvalan war when Order 3066 was issued. Edward liked to keep track of anyone who might try taking him down in whatever city he found himself in, and Iron Blood hadn’t been in Central yesterday. Even as a plan formed, Edward gritted his teeth. 

Of course Scar would stick around to kill one of the State Alchemists directly responsible for the slaughter of his people. 

Edward moved silently as he made his way down to street level, even though he knew neither of them would notice if he wasn’t. From the alleyway across from them, he could see that Scar was winning. He could also see the slight stumble in Grand’s movements and the wavering focus of his gaze; he’d probably been on his way home from a bar when Scar found him.

Edward clicked his tongue, fully aware of the stupidity of his plan and fully confident that it would probably end with Grand still breathing. Mostly confident.

“ **Hi there**!” Ed called in Ishvalan. Both Scar and Iron Blood froze, before turning to face him as he approached from the shadows. Neither of them let the other out of their sight, but neither did they keep their backs to the newcomer. Edward hated dealing with experienced combatants when lives other than his own were on the line.

No doubt they both recognized the language. Iron Blood from the war and Scar from his home.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. You’re Basque Grand, right?” he asked. At Iron Blood’s nod, he turned instead to Scar. “ **And you’re who they’ve been calling ‘Scar’**?” Scar’s nod was almost imperceptible in the moonlight.

Neither of them seemed overly comfortable with him speaking Ishvalan, so he switched to Amestrian. Edward had no doubt they both knew exactly who he was, even with the improvised uniform. The Vigilante Alchemist had gained quite the reputation and he doubted anyone but himself could tell the difference from his regular uniform. The only physical difference was the lack of body armor. Plus, he only wore his regular uniform on planned ops, and most of the minor shit he dealt with he stumbled across. Nonetheless, he said, “How rude of me, I’ve neglected to introduce myself. Vigilante Alchemist, pleasure to meet you both.” He beamed at them. They scowled. _Rude_ , Ed thought. Just because they couldn’t see his mouth didn’t mean they couldn’t tell he was smiling, after all.

It was Scar who spoke first. “I doubt there are many who haven’t heard of you, Vigilante. I have no desire to fight someone whose mission resembles mine. You could walk away from this; I have it handled.”

Edward was roiling with anger when he finished speaking. Iron Blood looked worried that Ed would join the fray and fight _against_ him.

Through gritted teeth, he said, “Please tell me in what goddamn way my so-called ‘mission’ resembles yours?”

At that, both of them seemed a tad confused. Honestly. He knew the military filled the papers with bullshit misinformation about him, but he didn’t realize how much of it was believed. More often than not, people either thanked him or didn't talk to him at all. 

Edward took a deep breath, but it did little to dispel his mounting frustration. “For starters, my ‘mission’ is to save as many lives as I can, usually by stopping criminals or government corruption. Criminals, for example, like serial killers.” he said, with a pointed look at Scar. “I don’t work with people who go around murdering and I sure as fuck don’t do so myself. I came to _protect_ Iron Blood, here, even if I understand why you’d target him.” None of what he had said was something he tried to keep secret, and he needed Grand to trust him at least a little.

Scar looked angry and Iron Blood looked a little lost. Before Edward could say anything else about the disconnect between propaganda and reality, Scar moved.

He was faster than Ed had been expecting, even though he knew the guy had managed to defeat and kill multiple state alchemists. If Teacher could see him—and for some reason, didn’t kill him for all the bullshit he had pulled since they first left Dublith—she’d never forgive him for underestimating such a deadly opponent. 

He did his best to dodge the open hand heading his way and succeeded by the barest margin. If the Madame hadn’t warned him about the bastardized alchemy the guy used, he’d have thought Scar was planning to slap him. Ed knew he’d have to see it in person to confirm, but his running theory was that he stopped the transmutation at deconstruction. It made a whole hell of a lot more sense than spontaneously induced combustion, anyway. Not that that wasn’t possible, of course, but the circle would have to be adjusted for by the material it was used on, and Scar had damaged property as well as people.

Edward only caught a glimpse of the tattoos crawling up Scar’s arm, but they didn’t look like any alchemic _or_ alkahestral symbols he’d seen before. If he got a better look, he could probably determine their origin or whether they’d been adapted or spliced in some way.

He shook off the distraction when he saw Scar approaching again, but he needn’t have bothered. Iron Blood formed a wall of guns and cannons from the iron-rich earth. Scar dodged each shot with insulting ease, but Grand formed iron walls around him where he landed.

Edward raised an eyebrow at him, more than a little surprised not only at the assist but because in doing so, Grand had turned his back to him. He stood and began to move towards what he assumed to be a successfully trapped Scar, even as he began to speak. “Assuming I have not just erred greatly, I apologize for the military’s-” 

“Sorry for interrupting,” Edward said, bodily shoving Grand out of the way when he sensed Scar moving forward. 

That destructive hand burst through the recently constructed wall, making a grab right for where Grand’s head had been. For the millionth time, Ed was grateful he’d learned qi sensing during his time in Xing.

Grand seemed a little shaken, whether it was because he’d narrowly escaped death or because Edward had been the one to save him, but he righted himself quickly and regained his stance. Edward clapped his hands together before pressing them to the ground and sending a wave of spiked earth at Scar. He moved deftly, using the spikes as a jumping point and making his way toward Edward.

Edward used the distraction of the spikes to form a spear, relatively certain that Grand would buy him more time if necessary. He didn’t need it, but just barely. He swung the spear up and used the shaft to block Scar’s right hand at the wrist even as the end finished forming.

With the momentum behind that blow, Ed was pretty damn sure it had fractured; at the least, it hurt like a bitch. Despite this, however, the only outward expression of pain was the gritting of teeth and a near-microscopic wince before Scar moved with the hit and swung his leg at Edward’s torso. He raised his right arm and braced for the block, but he still slid back a few feet with the force of it.

Edward had been preparing for one hell of a fight when he eventually found the guy—even _he_ knew combat State Alchemists were no pushovers—but this guy superseded his expectations. That combined with the fact that he hadn't yet finished preparations meant that this would not be a fight without cost. If the cost was something he could pay alone it would be an acceptable price, but he knew better than most that he wouldn't be the only one to cover the charge. He looked over at Grand, his temporary ally, and knew the guy wouldn't make it out unscathed if they kept at this.

He heaved a sigh of resignation to a temporary retreat as he ducked Scar's next blow. The man seemed enraged at the perceived dismissal, but Ed had bigger problems than a serial killer's ego at the moment. Namely, how to convince the bloodthirsty war hero to flee from the guy who attacked him.

Edward jumped back from Scar to gain a little distance before sending a wave of earth towards him. "Hey!" he shouted. "Grand! You gotta get out of here." By the end of his sentence, Scar had regained all the ground he had lost and was back to exchanging blows with Ed while dodging Grand's contributions. 

He didn't even falter as he shouted back. "This is _my_ fight, Vigilante. I will not abandon you to it."

Ed risked a glance back, just so the guy could see how little he liked that response. "What if I leave right after you? Besides, I thought you militants didn't like me?" he asked. "I think leaving the infamous Vigilante Alchemist to a battle of mutually assured destruction with a serial killer would get you a lot of points with the upper brass." Edward leapt back from Scar's destructive hand, narrowly avoiding certain death. Grand sent a hail of bullets at Scar the moment Ed was clear. "Aren't we the two most hated individuals on the military's wanted list?"

"I suppose that depends on who you ask," Grand said, once again encapsulating Scar in an iron box. "The people of Amestris are quite fond of you, Vigilante."

Ed didn't know how true that was, but he knew they at least tolerated him. No civilian ever tried to rat him out, anyway. "We're getting off-topic," he said, just as Scar burst free. He had been growing visibly angrier as they spoke, but now he was truly seething. "The point is neither of us are at our best right now, and even if we win, it won't be unscathed. We should fall back and live to fight another day.”

Scar lunged for Grand this time, forcing Ed to serve as back-up. Watching the two trade blows made him antsy; if Scar so much as touched him, he was dead. It had been years since he’d been relegated to a support role in a fight. It had been years since he’d had someone to be support for. Anytime Scar got too close, Ed would throw one of his knives, forcing him to either retract his arm or risk losing use of it. 

Ed was barely managing to stop himself from forcing his way into the close-quarters fight, but he knew that it would end disastrously. Not only did he and Grand not know each other's fighting style enough to avoid any collisions, but neither of them was used to fighting alongside anyone else; not anymore, at least. He also knew that they didn’t have room for mistakes.

It was after the fourth near-miss of Scar’s right hand that Grand finally acquiesced. He grumbled a simple, “Fine,” before leaping back from Scar and trapping him in a third box. Neither of them wasted any time in retreating, knowing it wouldn’t be long before Scar broke free again. Ed motioned toward the alleyways, and Grand only hesitated for a moment before following after him. 

He was a little surprised, to be honest. That was a hell of a lot of trust from a State Alchemist.

Ed knew the streets well, far better than Scar, and it was easy to lose him in their labyrinthine paths. They ran for fifteen minutes straight before Ed’s paranoid brain allowed them to stop and catch their breath.

They leaned against the grimy walls, panting slightly, while Ed tried valiantly to ignore the look Grand was giving him. He didn’t last long.

“What?” he snapped.

Grand blinked, but showed no other sign of surprise at the outburst. “You helped me,” he said.

“No shit, General. I’m a vigilante, remember?”

Grand blinked again. “I doubted the information in your file was entirely accurate, but that it was entirely _in_ accurate is a bit of a surprise.”

Ed arched a brow at him. “What exactly does this file say?” he asked.

“That you’re a rampant criminal with no regard for human life,” Grand said, in what was probably the most deadpan voice Ed had ever heard.

He balked at him. “What the fuck? I’ve literally never killed a single criminal,” he said, hating that he had to make the distinction of “criminal.” “I leave them tied up, with enough evidence to get them off the street for the police to find. Sometimes they’re beat to shit, but they’re _alive_.” Ed was so sick of the absolute bullshit the military kept saying about him.

Grand raised a single eyebrow at that, but there was something considering in his gaze. “So it would seem,” he said. “If you ever need a friend in Central, Vigilante…”

He was beyond surprised at the offer, but Edward couldn’t help being suspicious of Grand’s apparent trust. The military had been on his ass ever since he started doing their job for them, and friends were few and far between. Given how little progress they had made towards his capture in the past six years, he wouldn’t be surprised if this was their latest attempt. 

He nodded, but didn’t otherwise comment. Another ally in the military would be invaluable, especially one of such high rank, but Edward couldn’t risk it. Not now, at least, when the Madame was strong-arming him into seeking out the Colonel. One potential betrayal at a time, thanks. He trusted the Madame, though, and he trusted Armstrong, who had mentioned the Flame Alchemist more than once. She spoke derisively, but Ed knew she respected him if nothing else. He didn’t know much of anything about Grand.

“He should be gone by now. Guess I’ll see you around?” Regardless of his trust in the offer, Ed was too smart to turn away potential allies, should he need them in an emergency.

Grand seemed to understand, and responded only with a returned nod before leaving the alleyway. Edward wondered what he would tell his superiors. He wondered if he had known Scar was Ishvalan.

Ed stood in the narrow passage for a minute longer before heading back to where they fought Scar. He was probably long gone, but if he could fight without Grand there, Edward would happily take the chance. If nothing else, he could repair the street and surrounding buildings.

He wanted his kunai back, anyway.

He’d learned how to use them during his time in Xing, back when Al was still alive. They’d heard alkahestry was more focused on healing than alchemy, and there wasn’t near enough information on it in Amestris. It was a better lead than any other they’d found, so they packed up and headed across the desert. A year and a half spent amongst the people there made them both fluent, but only Al had gotten a good grasp of alkahestry. Supposedly, it was because he was “more spiritual” and “open-minded,” but Ed was pretty sure Mei was just playing favorites with her lessons.

It also might have been how quickly he gave up, choosing instead to study the fighting style and weaponry. First he learned how to throw knives, something he’d wanted to learn since he’d first seen Hughes fight, and then he’d studied martial arts when they found the Yao clan. He had figured it would be fine anyway. Al was learning alkahestry and Edward had never imagined they would be apart.

He’d been wrong.

It wasn’t until he’d returned years later, after Al had died, that he finally mastered alkahestry and qi sensing. By then, Ed had a lot of experience reaching out for something he didn't believe was there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's chapter 3! I hope you guys liked it. This was my first time writing a fight scene, so I'd really appreciate any feedback you have. Roy will finally get to join the fun in the next chapter, so stay tuned :)


	4. Chapter 4

After he had his knives back and had fixed the street, Edward made his way back to Madame Christmas’s. _He’ll be in East City next, my ass_ , he thinks.

The second he got through the door, Madeline shuffled him into a booth with a “Back so soon?” and sat next to him. “I’m assuming something happened?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged. “Just figured the Madame would want to know Scar was still in her city. Figured she’d kick my ass if I didn’t tell her myself, after she gave me info on him.”

Madeline blinked at him. “He made an attack?” she asked. “Here?”

Edward nodded. She sighed.

“Who on?”

“Brigadier General Basque Grand,” he said. “Guy wasn’t exactly sober when the fight started. He’d be dead for sure if I hadn’t stumbled onto them.”

Madeline raises an eyebrow at him. She knew he wasn’t usually one for “stumbling” onto the more major stuff. His luck wasn’t that good.

“I assume that means he’s still alive?” she asked.

“For now,” he said, grimacing. “We need to know whether my interference means Scar will be making another attempt or heading straight to the East.”

“Or heading somewhere else entirely,” she added.

Edward wasn’t too sure about that. “The guy seems pretty driven. It’s not like he knows his movements have been analyzed enough to predict his next ones, either. My guess is he’ll head out first thing tomorrow, if not tonight.”

Madeline tilted her head, conceding the point. “Guy like that probably figures the overall mission is more important than the individual target. He can always come back and finish Grand off, but not if he gets caught. He knows they’ll be prepared for him now, Grand especially.”

“Plus,” Edward said, “there’s some guys out East who were a hell of a force during the Ishvalan campaign.”

Madeline’s face adopted a distinctly reproachful look. He knew she wouldn’t let anything slip about the Madame and Mustang, she was too good for that, but it was worth a shot. He cracked a grin at her and her own lips twitched upward. She rolled her eyes and shook her head at him. “Get out of here,” she said. “I know you’re dying to, and I can pass all that on to the Madame just fine.”

His grin grew just a bit wider as he stood, and waved a goodbye before spinning on his heels and heading out the door.

Edward made his way back to his safehouse, and collapsed onto the corner of the floor he’d been sleeping in. The blankets he kept behind transmuted bits of the wall formed into a fairly comfortable pseudo-cot. They had been raggedy and filthy when he first found them, but that was easy enough to fix. He could make something better, he knew, something more suitable for sleeping, but he never did. Sleeping too comfortably was dangerous, and a fully formed bed was harder to hide and transmute to rags in a hurry.

A pile of blankets would do the job just fine. So long as he didn’t wake up too stiff to fight, he was good.

* * *

Edward woke just as the first of the sun’s rays were lighting the sky. By the time he had packed up and made it to the train station, the sun was just peaking over the horizon. Just in time to buy a ticket, and board the first train East. Hopping the train here would only be suspicious. Up North, there weren’t many civilians and the train to Central was almost exclusively used to transport supplies and rations. Being a passenger was out of the ordinary, attention-grabbing. In Central, being a passenger made him a faceless member of the crowd.

He sat down and schooled his expression into the same “don’t talk to me” face he always wore on trains. The departure time was early enough that he didn’t have to worry about the seats opposite him being needed, so he doubted anyone would fill them. He used to have Al around to scare off any passersby—the armor was a hell of a deterrent. Of course, he hadn’t wanted it to be, then. Edward enjoyed being left alone, but it wasn’t worth the tension in Al’s posture or the strain on his voice whenever it happened.

He shook his head to clear the memories away, and all the feelings that came with them. He swallowed down the pain and the guilt, and opened his notebook. Edward was determined to get some work done.

Hours later of furrowed brows and wracking his memory for an equation he’d seen months ago, Edward was fairly certain he could mould and shape the water in mid-air. His grin was sharp as he looked over the re-worked array. It wouldn’t have the kind of force needed to do any real damage yet, but Edward also knew it would be a hell of an intimidator to have a coil of water at his command with a clap of his hands. With this version of the array, he could definitely at least funnel the water into a column or whip and make it writhe around. He also knew someone less well-intentioned could use it to drown someone anytime and anywhere, even mid-pursuit.

He committed the array to memory before tearing out the page and clapping it into ashes.

_I guess fire can beat water sometimes_ , he thought amusedly. Of course, if the Flame Alchemist was less cooperative than Madame Christmas had promised, that wouldn’t be the case. Mustang wouldn’t need to know that Ed could do little else with it than douse his fire and ruin his gloves, and Edward would get to keep his own knowledge of flame alchemy up his sleeve a little longer.

The train pulled to a stop just as he finished dusting the remains of the page from his gloves. Edward stood up and pulled the straps of his bag across his shoulders. He rolled his neck, stretching the muscles after having sat hunched over a notebook for the past couple of hours, and walked off the train.

He’d have to kill time until Colonel Mustang was off duty or on break, and there was no better way, in Edward’s humble opinion, than to eat. He made his way into a Cretan place he liked—most of their dishes were actually authentic—and settled himself at the corner booth, where he could see most of the restaurant and keep an eye on the doors.

A waitress eventually came over, and she seemed delighted when he ordered in Cretan. Not many Amestrians knew another language, but then, Ed wasn’t most Amestrians, and he had little choice. He liked learning languages, though, and his Cretan was in danger of getting rusty anyway.

Edward pored over his notes on Mustang and his team while he waited, only pausing to hide them under falsified and unimportant documents when the waitress came back with food or to check in on him. Mustang’s team was loyal, and they were skilled. That wasn’t a good combination for Edward. He was most concerned about First Lieutenant Hawkeye, of course. She was well-known and justly feared. Edward was decent with a gun, but she was downright terrifying. And she was a sniper, which meant, given the opportunity, she could kill him before he knew what was happening.

Qi sensing and performing Alkahestry from a distance were all well and good, but they wouldn’t help if she was firing from 400m away, and a shot like that was a joke for someone of her skill. His only chance would be sensing the bullet in time to construct a wall in its path. Edward didn’t like his chances with that. He already would have scoped out the perimeter he would engage Mustang in when he introduced himself properly, but with her in play he would have to expand his search radius. A lot.

Of course, he wouldn’t have to be as careful the first few times. He wouldn’t be meeting him as the Vigilante Alchemist afterall.

He stayed in the restaurant, ordering various dishes until the first feasible end of the work day was approaching. He knew the upper brass of the military didn’t go out for lunch with any sort of regularity, and he needed food on the off chance that their first encounter became an altercation. Edward doubted it would, of course. He was a better actor than that, and approximately zero percent of the official descriptions of him were accurate. Black hair, ponytail, subtle clothes, mid-forties—Edward wasn’t worried about being recognized.

He paid his bill and stepped into an alleyway to stash his red coat in the wall, fixing his hair up a bit. He exited with his shirt changed into a v-neck and its fit just a bit tighter, so it stretched across the muscles of his arms and chest. He had to keep the long sleeves of his jacket and his gloves, of course. An automail arm didn’t fit with the part he was about to play. Ditzy tourists asking for directions didn’t have missing limbs. He also had to keep his pack with him; he wouldn’t be convincingly new in town without it.

Edward left the alley and went to the nearest shop to buy a map of East City. He didn’t need it, of course, he had long since memorized more than it could show him, but it was a necessary prop. He pasted on a confused expression with just a touch of frustration, but not enough to screw his features out of the approachable look he curated and into something less approachable or attractive.

He stared down at the map, looking up occasionally as he wandered toward the Eastern Command building. He stood in the courtyard and glanced around, but he didn’t see Mustang anywhere yet. He put his nose back into the map and kept walking. He circled back five times before he eventually found him. Three other officers and four civilians had offered him directions, and he had accepted two of the offers, which meant he had had to wait a little longer before wandering back. Everytime he found himself in sight of the building, Edward was sure to look both embarrassed and frustrated. He didn’t know whether Mustang could see him from wherever his office was, and he couldn’t risk scanning the windows to find out in case he could, but Edward would be prepared if he was being observed.

When he finally saw him, Edward paused and looked around again, being sure to look vulnerable and lost. He needn’t have bothered. Mustang’s reputation as a flirt seemed thankfully accurate. He walked straight toward him with a cheesy smile Edward almost wanted to call a leer. Looks like he could be seen after all.

“Are you lost?” he asked.

Edward made sure to look up with relief. “Yes, I’m afraid so,” he said, with an embarrassed sounding laugh. “Is there any way you could help me, General?”

Mustang’s leer twitched into a real smile for a moment before switching back, a fraction more amused. “I’m a Colonel, actually.”

Edward widened his eyes in mock embarrassment. “I’m so sorry! The town I’m from doesn’t see a lot of military activity, I’m not as familiar with the rankings as I probably should be.” The best lies were part truth, afterall.

Mustang was smiling now, still clearly going for charming but also clearly a bit charmed himself—or amused at the least. “Where are you headed?”

Edward made sure his expression was grateful as he slowly lowered the amount of embarrassment. “Any hotel with a vacancy? I’ve tried two with no luck, but I’ve mostly been walking in circles.”

“I think I can help you with that,” he said, still smiling at him. Edward didn’t know how he did it; he hated doing this, his cheeks always ached afterward. “Which ones have you tried?”

“Uh,” he said, fumbling with the map, “The Golden Lion and The… Eastern Inn? One was fumigating and the other was booked full.”

Mustang nodded at that. Edward had done his research while wandering around for a reason. “There’s a place up the road called The Horseshoe Inn that always has a spot open. It’s fairly nice but still isn’t too expensive.”

“Really? “ he asked, widening his eyes so they sparkled in the sun. “Thank you so much, Colonel…” he trailed off meaningfully.

Mustang picked up the cue, answering, “Roy Mustang.” He smiled again and added, “Just Roy will do, though.”

Edward cycled through all the embarrassing memories he usually used to force a blush and felt his cheeks heat up. “Edward,” he said, purposefully stumbling over the word just a bit. “Elric.” He paused a moment, staring at Mustang and forcing his face red before blinking and shaking his head. “Uh- Where, uh, where did you say that inn was? The… The Horse something?”

Mustang smiled _again _, and said “Why don’t you let me walk you?”__

Edward forced his cheeks to burn hotter. It wasn’t too hard—he always found this act somewhat mortifying and it was only made worse by the fact that, if this worked out, he would have to _work_ with Mustang. “Oh, really, Colonel—I mean, Roy, it’s no trouble! I’m sure you’re really busy, I don’t want to-”

“It’s no trouble,” he said, cutting him off. “I’m heading that way, anyway. Besides, I’m rather enjoying your company.” He dialed up the charm as he finished speaking. The frankly embarrassing line darkened his cheeks further.

“Oh,” he squeaked, forcing his voice up. “Sure then. If you’re sure.”

Mustang’s smile was amused again, and warm around the edges. “I’m sure.”

He put out his arm for Edward to hold, and he looked down at his feet as he accepted it in what he hoped was a bashful manner. Edward wasn’t one to get genuinely embarrassed nowadays, but knowing he would be working with Mustang if he checked out—and he knew he would, Madame Christmas was an even better judge of character than he was—had him teetering on the edge of it.

He let Mustang guide him to the inn, smiling and laughing as he chattered and flirted. When they came to a stop outside the inn, Ed made sure he was blushing and Mustang could tell he was hesitating. It would be better if Mustang asked to see him again, but Edward could see the amusement in his eyes that meant he wanted to see Ed stutter his way through asking instead. Bastard.

“So…” he started.

“So,” Mustang said, smirking.

“Could I, um… see you again, maybe? Sometime?”

Mustang looked almost surprised that he asked, which was ridiculous, and he was silent just long enough that Edward tried to guilt him into agreeing. “If you want to, that is. You don’t have to, obviously. I mean—you’re probably super busy, and I’m probably a mess so-”

Mustang cut him off again, this time with an indulgent smile bordering too close to fond for such a short interaction and an, “I’d love to, Edward.”

Edward forced his cheeks to stay red just a little longer as they worked out a lunch date for tomorrow. Edward tried to let Mustang meet him there, but he was adamant that he would come by the inn to pick him up. Edward acquiesced because stubborn didn’t fit in with his ditzy persona. Which, of course, meant he’d have to be back extra early to be certain Mustang wouldn’t see him returning to the Inn.

They parted ways and Edward got a room, waited an hour to be certain Mustang was gone, and climbed out the window before going back for his coat. He made his way to the abandoned apartment complex he often crashed in in East City. It had been marked for demolition for seven years, but the funding for it was devoted to the military and no alchemist cared to take care of it.

He checked all the usual things—the angle of the doors, the settling of the dust, the transmuted walls where he kept the blankets and bedding—and settled in for the night. It was hard to resist going on patrol, but if the Vigilante Alchemist was spotted the same day Edward Elric got to town, it would create a connection he didn’t need made.

Plus, Mustang might decide the case took precedence over a potential hookup and ditch him. He needed to see Mustang outside of how he presented himself at work and how he would act during an alliance. He’d follow him on his third day in town, see what he did when he thought no one was watching. And on the fourth day he would watch him at work; he clearly had a window that overlooked the courtyard. There were buildings around Eastern Command, tall enough that he could set up a blind for the day and keep an eye on the goings on. He’d always wondered why they didn’t worry about snipers, but he certainly didn’t mind the advantage now.

If Mustang asked for a second date—and odds were that he would, Edward was _very_ good and Mustang was attractive enough that keeping up the flirting was no chore—Edward would decide then whether he had enough information to initiate contact as the Vigilante.

Maybe on the fifth day they could do dinner, and Edward could go on patrol the night before, make sure he was seen. He couldn’t bring it up himself, of course, but it may come up and he would be able to get a vague idea of how Mustang felt about the Vigilante Alchemist. Even if he approved, though, he wouldn’t say so outright. Of course not, no one got that far in the military without a talent for subterfuge and bullshit. But hopefully, by then, he would have a good enough grasp on Mustang’s mannerisms to tell whether he was using it or not.

With a tentative plan in place, Edward prepared himself for a night of unrest. Patrolling or at least training all hours of the night was a habit that he had ingrained deeply over the past six years, and he wasn’t looking forward to laying low over the next week or so. Everytime he did this, it was always somehow more exhausting than going out. He had never been an idle person, but becoming a lone vagrant made it so much worse. The constant antsiness and nervous energy of paranoia wasn’t helping either. _Plus_ , he thought, somewhat disgruntled, _I have a date tomorrow_.

With that he closed his eyes, determined to make an attempt at sleep and not look like shit tomorrow. A second date would provide greater opportunity for observation, after all.

* * *

When Edward woke up, it was already light outside. It had been a long while since he had slept for that long, but he still felt exhausted. He had barely started on this case and he was already sick of it.

He dragged himself off of the bundle of blankets in the corner and rubbed at his eyes as he stumbled over to the shower. He could shower in the objectively better showers of the inn, since he had a room anyway—just in case Mustang checked—but no one knew he was here and he wasn’t exactly at his most alert while showering. The showers here weren’t even supposed to work, but Edward had long since funnelled a transmutation through the pipes, cleaning and reinforcing them while he reconnected the building to the main water line. He had pocketed the toiletries from his room before heading out, so it would be a real shower instead of scrubbing at his hair with bar soap like he usually did.

He couldn’t use the long train ride as an excuse to look decrepit tomorrow, which meant cleaning up some. It also meant a change of clothes, but for Edward that meant washing his properly by transmuting a few other aspects of the bathroom and then alchemizing them dry. He’d worn an altered version of his standard, admittedly ostentatious, outfit yesterday, so he figured it was fine to wear it normally for the day.

He turned the water to his preferred scalding and scrubbed the grunge of the safehouse from his skin before soaping up his hair. When he got out and dried off, he pulled it into a braid. He had no idea how it stayed so soft and manageable with how little care he gave it; Winry used to give him hell about that. Al did too, way back before the armor. He had always kept his hair shorter because it became unruly if he let it get to any real length.

He stopped commenting on it after their failed transmutation.

Edward left the bathroom with clean clothes and a clean body and stowed his bag and blankets in the walls. He checked the qi in the area to make sure no one was paying the building any mind before he clambered out the window of the neighbouring apartment, scaling down the side of it and into the alley. He had boarded his own windows up with alchemy when he first found the place, so no one would catch sight of movement in the abandoned building and see fit to call the police.

He climbed back into the window of his room at the inn three hours before his scheduled lunch date with Mustang. He spent the time working with his notebook, careful not to get too absorbed and miss the chance to meet him outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it! I have the course of Ed and Mustang's relationship and dynamic laid out in sporadic scenes and I'm so excited to write some of them. Especially the initial reveal of Ed being the Vigilante Alchemist! Let me know what you though of the chapter!  
> See you guys next 15th :)


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